Batman: The Deadliest Shot
by COMETS
Summary: Batman must deal with a suspicious attempted murder of an important Gotham Judge and with a nefarious new asassin by the name of Dead shot
1. Chapter 1

**_E_**ven as he thrust his fat body one more time in to the thighs of the little thirteen year old girl, Martin Sloan was thinking about what a fucked up world he inhabited. She was small, about 5 ft. 3 inches tall, plump but well endowed in the breast department, his kind of girl. Sloan pulled out of her, grunting with both satisfaction and fatigue, then surveyed the scene. There was blood on the sheets, she hadn't bled much, not compared some of the other "pure ones" he had had, but hey, he'd still busted her cherry, right? She was now in the fetal position, rocking back and forth, her ebony skinned body trembling as she turned away from the man who had stolen the only thing she had. He chuckled and shook his head.

Sloan felt no guilt. After all, he was not her pimp, nobody had forced her in to this line of work. She needed the money very badly, she had just earned it, it was simply a business attraction. Was it his fault he couldn't get hard for a woman who could legally vote or even drive? Nope. Fuck that, he was one of the good guys. Sloan was one of the most popular judges in the Gotham circuit, known for sympathy for defendants and his refusal to back down from cases involving the prosecution of mob figures. He was one of the most honest men in Gotham politics. So what if he liked fucking virgins, everybody had their vices. He wasn't married, didn't have a girlfriend, so he wasn't cheating on anybody. He didn't consider what he was doing a crime, and if it was, so what. Who the hell was going to tell him who he could or could not fuck. He was like a god in Gotham. Untouchable.

Some compared his amount of power to that of the mayor's, a few even claimed he was superior in that aspect. Sloan was no megalomaniac, his goals in life were not those of absolute power, all he wanted was comfort in life, the finest homes, cars, pussy, and food, the latter of which had recently transformed his body from pudginess to obesities. The doctors were all over his ass about his gluttony in both food and drink, but at 43 Sloan could care less. He didn't consider himself a hedonist, but he felt he had worked hard enough to get to the point he was at to enjoy himself as much as he could. He ignored the girl's sobs and finished the nearby glass of brandy, toasting her sardonically before he did. Sloan was not worried about this leaking out.

He had known the owner of the brothel for a long time, though there were not friends, Sloan was a regular customer and had been for about two and a half years now. In return for the man providing the judge with whatever sexual fantasy he desired at the moment, Sloan not only paid generously but warned the man on the rare occasions when law enforcement got a wind of the rumors about the establishment and made attempts to infiltrate. It was a very satisfying relationship. Sloan slowly put on his boxers and huge slacks, grunting with the exertion, then put on his dress shirt. He tossed the girl a twenty from his wallet and put on his coat, he had slipped off his tie earlier in the day. The girl still would not look at him. It didn't bother him, what respectable gentleman concerned himself with a whore's opinion? He was in a good mood, humming as he splashed water on his face from a nearby sink. He ambled over to the door and stepped out.

His four bodyguards were outside waiting. They were well versed with his sexual deviancy, but three of them been working for him for at least a year, and appreciated their positions and pay enough not to let any of his secrets leave the brothel. For the new one, the money was enough to keep him quiet. The bodyguards were more of a formality than a necessity, though he had received some death threats from the mob before, Sloan knew that he had too many connections for them to even risk such an attempt. The backlash would simply not be worth it.

As soon as his boss stepped out of the room, Riyad Abdallah straightened up and was ready to leave. He was of Middle Eastern descent, about six ft. tall, with a wiry but sinewy frame. His face was rough and weathered, he had formerly been a NAVY seal, was highly trained, and had been recommended to Sloan when the suggestion of a bodyguard had arisen. Abdallah was the oldest and basically the de-facto leader of the bodyguard team, and out of all of them he was the man Sloan trusted the most.

The man standing next to him was Zachary "Zeke" Chapman. He was a black man, about 5 '10, and about 250 pounds of hard muscle. He was a failed NFL prospect, concerns about his height and injuries had derailed his career, and even at twenty nine years old he still harbored belief that one day he would once again be discovered and reinstated to football hero. He was not as highly trained with guns as Abdallah, nor was he formerly trained in hand to hand combat, but he was a menacing figure, and despite his height he exuded a kind of danger that often would be more useful in preventing danger before any attack than during it.

Lucas Morgan was probably the most easygoing of the group, tall and muscular, good looking in the traditional sense with long blonde hair and blue eyes. He had an exuberant personality, was often cracking jokes, and was rarely annoyed even when scolded by his colleagues. Despite his cheerful exterior and the fact that he was disliked by everybody in the group except Zeke who saw him as an interest amidst the boredom, Sloan, who hated him, had no doubt in his skills. Morgan was a former boxer and had even gone pro for a couple of years before he got in to a bar fight and beat his opponent in to a coma. Luckily for Morgan, the man didn't die but he had instantly been ejected from the league and it was only because of his father, a former senator down in Metropolis, that he had not served any jail time.

Andre Guillermo was the latest bodyguard to have been added to the crew. He was average height, with a lean but muscular frame. He was somewhat squeamish, a nervous personality, something Sloan loathed, but Guillermo had been recommended to him by a former Gotham DA who had utilized his services some years prior. Prone to fits of anxiety, even now Guillermo was chewing some kind of pills Sloan had never seen before in his life. Sloan hoped they weren't narcotics, but would not be angered or surprised if they were, He had heard Guillermo was highly trained and capable and good at his job. Sloan had not come to any situations that could fully exhibit Guillermo's skills and was somewhat skeptical, but nevertheless kept him on. Little did he know the very man he least depended on amongst his bodyguards would soon save his life.

As Sloan walked out of the room, the bodyguards stood at attention. Morgan had been smoking, Chapman had been reading a newspaper, and Guillermo had been looking through his phone. The ever dependable Abdallah was the first to notice his boss had come out and he now cleared his throat so his colleagues looked up. The men hastily discarded the distractions and stood at attention.

"Are you ready to leave, sir?" asked Abdallah. He was a married man and the frequent visits to the brother made him uncomfortable and even sickened him to some extent. He tolerated his boss's perversions but secretly loathed the man. Chapman had no qualms and Morgan's only complaints were that they themselves did not get to indulge in the provided services. Guillermo was nervous there, but then again, he was nervous about everything.

"Yeah," Sloan said, tucking his shirt in around his enormous stomach, "lets go." And so the men surrounded him and began to make their way down the stairs. There were some prostitutes and some other workers milling around the rooms but the group moved past them swiftly and headed towards the door.

On their way out, a short, skinny oriental man with short greased hair intercepted them. His hair was greased back and he wore and expensive suit. This was Jimmy Chin, the operator of the brothel. He had a very disarming and charismatic presence and though he was easy to dislike, he was also hard to distrust. Though he was by no means brilliant, he was very business savvy, and personally made almost a million dollars a year from the establishment. Now he came towards the group and the bodyguards parted to allow he to approach Sloan.

"How were the services tonight, Mr. Sloan?" Chin asked, smiling. He already knew what the answer was, he handpicked the girls for his best clients and knew exactly was Sloan wanted: Young teen virgin, preferably a minority, big tits. Those were the criteria and they were fulfilled with a tee.

"Excellent, Jimmy," Sloan chuckled, "If there's one thing I like about you, it's that you sure know how to pick your bitches." Sloan clapped the small man on his arm cheerfully.

Chin mildly flinched at both the expletive and the contact. Though he was considered a pimp, he believed himself more of a provider of exotic tastes, and considered his prostitutes colleagues. Despite this he smiled, "You'll be back soon, yes?"

Sloan grinned knowingly, "Both you and I know you run the best whorehouse in Gotham, how could I not be back?"

Chin shook his hand, "Well, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."

Sloan replied, "Of course," and the group parted ways with the "manager". The bodyguards were still standing erect and Sloan saw that Guillermo had again been texting. "Jeez, kid, that pussy ain't going nowhere," he said to his bodyguard.

Guillermo blushed and hurriedly put his phone away. Morgan smiled and Sloan laughed at the man's embarrassment. The group now made their way outside. They had arrived in to cars, Sloan's towncar which was driven by Morgan with the accompanying Abdullah, and then the Escalade which had brought Guillermo and Chapman. They now made their way to the nearby parking lot where the vehincles were located. Sloan was humming happily and the bodyguards moved hurriedly, trying to get their boss back home so they themselves could get some rest.

Sloan was whistling the beginning of an old Elvis tune when the bullet hit him in the shoulder. He stood for a moment in shock and looked down for a moment. Guillermo and Morgan were the first ones who heard the silenced, popping shots. The second shot hit Sloan in the leg and he began to collapse. Now the bodyguards all began to react. Guillermo dove at his boss and he took the last two shots in the back. Abdallah and Morgan protected Sloan's fallen body with their own while Chapman had now retrieved his handgun and was looking up towards the buildings.

Abdallah checked his boss's pulse and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Sloan was still alive, though wheezing in pain. His shoulder and leg were bleeding but they were flesh wounds.

Morgan stood up frantically and took out his cellphone, hurriedly dialing 911. Abdallah now checked his fallen colleague's pulse. Andre Guillermo was no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**_C_**ommissioner James Gordon was not a man prone to swearing, he abhorred obscenities, tolerating them in his superiors but disallowing them with his subordinates. Now was one of the fleeting moments when a certain four letter abhorrence ran through his mind continuously. The parking lot was now overrun by the police force, dozens of crime scene technicians and both uniforms and detectives interviewing the very few witnesses.

Gordon sighed and picked a cigarette out of his pocket. He was tall and lean, handsome in an almost scholarly way, with his thick-rimmed glasses, salt and pepper hair (now more salt than ever) and almost trademark moustache. He jogged regularly and was an ace on the shooting range, scarcely drank, no drugs, his only vice was cigarettes, a habit he picked early in the life, and he rarely left his house without a pipe. Even now as he lit the cigarette he swore he would quite the next day.

"Hey, Commish," It was Harvey Bullock, immediately followed by his partner Renee Montoya. Bullock was a brash personality, ill-mannered, unrestrained, and blunt, but Gordon found him to be one of the few men on the force that he both respected and trusted. Despite the rough edges, he was one of the most sympathetic on the force and Gordon knew he cared very much about the city and the inhabitants. Though he was often grating on the nerves, he actually had keen detective senses and he gave himself completely to the work. His physique went perfectly with his personality. He was average height, but wide, not so much fat as body shape. He was shaped like a bear, and with his short though unruly hair, big frame, and the uncanny ability to intimidate even when barely trying to do so he was very good at getting whatever information he wanted from suspects.

Rene Montoya was at the other end of the spectrum. She was brilliant, a college graduate unlike Bullock, and had graduated from the very prestigious Gotham Academy in the top two percentile of her class majoring in criminal law. She could have been anything she wanted, her family was very wealthy and she had both the brains and the persistence, and Gordon often wondered why she had become a cop despite lacking the inclination to ask. She was tall for a woman, almost Bullock's height, and gorgeous. She had long, curly hair, beautiful eyes and lips, and a physique to die for. Although she was constantly hit on by her colleagues, as far as anybody knew, she rejected all the offers sharply so at some point people stopped asking. She was one of the most thorough personalities Gordon had ever met: Focused, sharp, and very decisive. If she played her cards right she had a strong chance of making commissioner some day. She and Bullock were an odd pair, and even though It was obvious he was attracted to her, he was too much of a professional to ask her.

Now as the pair approached him, Gordon asked, "Got anything?

Bullock replied gruffly, " We interviewed all the bodyguards, they don't remember how many shots were fired but they think it came form that direction," He pointed towards a trashy, four story apartment about 40 yards away from the parking lot. "We haven't found any witnesses yet, probably afraid it might have been a mob hit."

Gordon nodded, "And what about this missing body business?"  
Montoya now took out her notepad. She was a meticulous note taker and her notes were reliable when it come to investigating crimes and gathering clues, "Well, according to the guards, boss was shot first, Guillermo dives to save him, shot a couple of times. They checked him, no pulse, so they carried their boss back in to the motel," she looked up, "You know, first priority and all," back to the notepad, "When they came back the body was gone."

Gordon shook his head, he's seen stranger things in Gotham. The head of the GCPD's CSI unit now approached. A short, wiry black man and one of Gordon's friends, his name was Andy Steeler. They now shook hands.

"Andy," Gordon said.

"James," Steeler said. Now that the formalities were over, he proceeded, "We found 7 shells so far, all from a Remington SR8, they've all been bagged. Found two sets of blood, one matched Sloan's and now we're looking to see if the second will match Guillermo's. Now we're looking for both the body and the direction from where the bullet was shot." He now pointed at the aforementioned building, "We do believe the bodyguard's theory of the direction and now I'm sending men to different apartment building rooftops and to question tenants."

Gordon nodded, "Alright, thanks, Andy."

Steeler nodded and went back to work. Bullock shook his head, "Damn," At Gordon's look, "Sorry, chief, but I can't believe they would really go after Sloan. I mean, he was definitely anti-mob and all, but everyone knows how connected this guy is."

Montoya nodded, "It's too much risk for so little reward. There will be a lot of backlash for this, I can't even believe the mob would attempt this."

Gordon shook his head, "If it was really them, that is." He now began to toy with the almost forgotten cigarette. "The mob can be irrational, yes, but at the same time, we need to find out if they were really the ones behind this."

Bullock sighed, "Aw, chief, come on. I mean, I get what you're saying, but who else has a motive in trying to get rid of Sloan."

"Still," Montoya said, "This is Gotham city. Killer clowns, Crocs in the sewers, Man-sized Bats, nothing is what it seems."

Gordon nodded, "And what about this whole brothel business. Where were Sloan and the bodyguards coming from?"

"Well," Bullock said, "You know all about Jimmy Chin, the brothel allegation, the underage girl accusations a year back an d all of that, well, we've been getting tips for months that the brothel had moved somewhere around this area, but every time you authorized us to raid around, it was gone. Same with today. There's nothing to be found, Chin probably cleared out immediately after the shooting knowing he might have to be involved in the whole situation."

Gordon nodded knowingly, "Hmmm, now, any updates on Sloan's condition?"

Montoya nodded, "Yes, Commissioner. He was shot a couple of times, but this Guillermo kid saved his life. Sloan is at Gotham General, stable condition. They say he's gonna be there for a couple of days, but he's gonna make it."

"That's good," Gordon said, spinning the unlit cigarette around with his fingers, "Alright, follow all the leads, call me when you guys get something." They nodded and walked away. Gordon dismissed them. He now turned towards a nearby alley where he had seen a familiar flash. He looked around to make sure everybody was preoccupied, then headed quickly towards it. Gordon turned one last time to make sure he was unobvserved then walked down some yards in to the shadows. He could see nothing and as he waited he lit his cigarette then looked up. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Always," the voice came from behind him. Though Gordon was startled, he showed no signs of this, and he waited for his heart to stop hammering before he turned. It was the familiar tall, muscled figure clad in the black armor, the flowing cape, and the long, sleek cowl. As usual, Batman was heard only when he deemed it necessary. "I got the news about Sloan an hour ago, but I had other....commitments. How is he doing?"  
The Commissioner had only heard about the shooting forty five minutes before but he didn't even bother to ask the question. He had given up trying to figure out the crusader's methods a long time before. "He's in sable conditions, doctors say he is going to be alright."

Batman nodded, "Good, Sloan has his vices, but he is one of the most impartial judges we have." By impartial, he meant one of the few judges that wasn't controlled by the mob. Most of them had either been taken in to mob service by promises of financial benefits or by threats. The bottom line was them most of them succumbed to the mob influence.

"This whole brothel business could ruin his credibility," Gordon shook his head, "Especially if this whole Jimmy Chin business thing is true."

Batman shook his head grimly, "Knowing Sloan it probably is. He is a man of….perverse interests." He had known about Sloan frequent visits to the brothel for a long time, but he had tolerated it because the man was simply one of the few people in Gotham willing to stand up to the mob, admittedly more out of arrogance than altruism, but still one of the few. It was only recently that he had began to hear the rumors about involvements with underage girls. Just as he was beginning to investigate the judge's less reputable endeavors, ironically, the shooting had occurred. "Don't worry about Jimmy Chin, I will find him. Have your people done ballistics yet?"

Gordon nodded, "Yeah, my ballistics experts say the bullets came from a Remington SR8." There was now a touch of sadness in the conversation. Normally, Batman with all his sophisticated forensic gadgets would have had a hand in the ballistics, but since the Harvey Dent, or Two Face (aptly named by the media) incident they could not risk being seen together. Even this meeting was very risky. Gordon cleared his throat and continued, "They suspect it came from the north and they are now casing all the buildings."

"Do you think it was a mob hit?" Batman asked.

Gordon grunted, "I'm not sure. I mean, the mob has been known to assassinate public figures before, but Sloan? I mean, it's plausible, but I don't think even they would be that brash and stupid. I've put Bullock and Montoya on the case."

Batman nodded. After it had been revealed that some of the Gordon's men had been involved in the death of Rachel Dawes and the scarring of Harvey Dent the department had gone through a massive overhaul. Dozens of officers had been laid off and though Gordon had kept most of the men he trusted, the department was now severely understaffed. Montoya was probably the best detective on the forces with Bullock following slowly behind. Batman now raised his head, "What about Chin, do you think he was involved?"

"I don't know," Gordon said, "But I don't see a motive. Sloan would undoubtedly have been one of his best clients. Anyhow, I…"

"Commissioner!" a voice called. It was a rapidly approaching uniformed cop, "Are you out here?" He was only a few ft. away now.

Gordon turned, "You'd better…" but he was now alone. It was now that the cop, a tall chubby guy with a moustache stood in front of him.

"I thought I heard voices…" The man said.

"Nah," Gordon said, "Just talking to myself. Whats going on?"

"We think we found the murder weapon."

* * *

**_A_**s Batman's grapnel gun propelled him out of the alley and to the top of the building, he could not resist quietly berating himself. Normally, he would have known about Sloans use of underage prostitutes, but lately his task had been a lot harder. He was no longer on friendly terms with any law enforcement agencies and he suspected that a shoot to kill order had been enacted.

His keen detective skills, honed through years of training, had gotten him through more situations than his mastery of numerous fighting styles, but lately, he felt that his mental prowress was being hampered by the stress. The people had turned against him. One the rare occasions when he was seen police were immediately summoned and he had barely escaped on a couple of times, even being shot on one, saved only by the Kevlar on his suit. Gordon was his only ally now, and they met rarely so the commissioner could not be implicated in anything.

Batman sprinted across the rooftop and dove to the next building with perfect acrobatic grace, landing with a smooth forward roll then springing off his hands on to his feet. Even as he landed he was already moving again, running to the edge and then flipping forward to the next nearby rooftop. The structures in this neighborhood were placed very close together so he didn't have to use his grapnel gun very much. At last he got to the edge of a fifteen storey building overlooking a very dark alley.

Batman, seeing no one around, now slipped a small miniature universal remotes out of his utility belt and pressed a button. His new, recently built Batmobile rolled out from behind a nearby building and in to the alley. It was smaller and sleeker than the previous one, though it had not sacrificed any compactness because of it, and had a lot more devices and gadgets on it. As it stopped the top slid open revealing the inside.

Batman smiled and jumped from the roof. As he did so, he touched his cape lightly with both hands. The memory fibers were activate and his cape became rigid so he glided lightly down in to the Batmobile with a perfect landing. He now reached out with his thumb and pressed the ignition key. The miniature computer inside the vehincle read his thumbprint in nanoseconds through the lightly clothed thumb and then started the engine, simultaneously closing the top. His diagonal seatbelts now automatically slid in to place across his chest. The engine roared, flames spewed form the exhausted, and the Batmobile shot out of the alley.

* * *

**_B_**ernam Maroni was a fuck up. He knew it, his friends knew it, even his parents knew it. Practically everyone he knew had given up on him, and justly so. He was an embarrassment, and likely would be dead or in jail had he not been the nephew of the great Sal Maroni. Even though his uncle had gone missing some months before, the family still had pull and this was what supplemented Bernam. Once he'd been an athlete, in high school, tall and athletic he had been a star basketball player. He'd been well on his way to a college scholarship until his steroid use was discovered during an impromptu drug test he could not get out of.

Now, fifteen years and seventy pounds later he was just another fat idiot who happened to be a Maroni. As he was constantly reminded by his father, he had never gone too college, was none to bright, and had virtually no career options. What could he do but work for his uncle. Uncle Sal was bound by familial tights to let the kid work for him but it had not taken Maroni long enough to discover that his nephew was a total idiot. Bernam had been relegated to the least important work in the crew, driver, and even then he'd proven himself a disappointment. He was loud, obnoxious, and a horrible driver, and he wrecked Maroni's limos twice before his uncle almost shot him in the head point blank.

Now he did barely any work, but was still part of the unofficial "Maroni gang." Though he was regarded as incompetent and an idiot by most people in the mob, he was still allowed to partake in meetings because no one would dare shut out the great Maroni's nephew. He got paid regularly, and at first had used the money to buy himself what most young men would have if they had money, fancy cars, nice apartment, clothes, jewelry. But gradually boredom had taken over. Even Bernam had realized he was a nobody, partaking in the meetings not as an important member but as someone to be tolerated because of his bloodlines. It didn't bother him, in fact, to some extent it was amusing, but nevertheless he found himself with nothing important to do most of the time.

He had experimented with drugs as a teen, but he was in his early twenties when he became frequent with his usage. At first it was marijuana, of course, and he found he could smoke it as often as he wanted because nobody depended on him and whether he really worked or not, Uncle Sal would deliver the money every month. After all, family meant more than anything in this kind of world. But as is often said, weed is only a gateway drug. Soon he was experimenting with pills, then coke, then needles. He was now a heroine addict and rarely ever left the house except for the "family meetings." Nobody expected or wanted anything from him, Somebody bought him his groceries, someone took care of his bills, someone shopped for him, no matter what it was someone was there to take care of it. He knew who to call if he wanted girls, booze, drugs, anything. It was a bohemian lifestyle if there ever was one, and frankly, Bernam Maroni loved it.

Even now as he sat back, heroine running through his veins, alternately dozing and chuckling at a Cheech & Chung movie he jubilated in his lifestyle. If he was anybody else, he would have been a crackhead on the streets, but as it was, he was a Maroni. A fat fuck of a Maroni, but still a Maroni, and that counted for something. He sat back and watched the movie for a couple of minutes. Over the years he had built up a tolerance to drugs so it would take great volumes to even get him a buzz. Now he was mostly sober but there was still a light show going on behind his eyes. What a night! He decided he was in the mood for weed. He pushed his fat body up on his elbows and looked around for his bong. At last he spied it on top of his High Definition Television set and now headed towards it. As he reached out for it, he spied a flying black object whizzing by and his bong erupted in an explosion of glass. The batarang smashed through and embedded itself in the wall.

"Holy shit!" Bernam cried out, falling to the floor in fear and shock. Batman appeared from behind him and easily lifted his big frame up by the collar. "What the fuck!" Bernam screamed as he was slammed against the wall in the air. He was a big guy, easily about 250 pounds and he was a little surprised at how Batman did it with so little effort. "What the fuck do you want, man?" He cried out in fear.

"Why didn't you tell me about the Sloan hit?" Batman snarled. He did not have to raise his voice. His imposing presence and the danger that accompanied every word as he spoke was enough to tell Bernam that now would not be a good time to lie. Bernam was one of Batman's many rats around Gotham. He had evidence on Berman that could put him away for a couple of years, but he often found it more useful, if the crimes had not been to serious of course, instead of turning to evidence over to Gordon, to instead use the culprit as an asset in his surveillance of the underworld.

"The what?" Bernam cried out, truly frightnened.

Batman slammed Bernam back against the wall again, "Don't lie to me. Someone tried to kill Martin Sloan tonight. I came to see you two days ago and you didn't tell me anything like this would go down."

"Because I didn't know, I swear!" Bernam shouted, "Please don't kill me, man, you know I wouldn't lie to you, my family wasn't behind this, I swear!"  
"Why should I believe you?!" Batman asked, his eyes hot with fury.

"Because, man," Bernam pleaded, "Please, dude, you know I would never lie to you. My family wanted Sloan dead, but he's too much of a risk, he knows the mayor and the governor, too much heat, man. We'd have to be stupid to try anything like that!"

Batman was adept at identifying when his subjects were telling the truth or lying. Once upon a time, somewhere far from Gotham, he had been trained in a method called the Facial Action Coding System that allowed the questioner to interpret micro-expressions and body language to determine if their subject was telling the truth. He saw now only fear in Bernam's eyes. The man was telling the truth. But if the mob hadn't been behind the hit……

"Alright," Batman said, easily letting Bernam slide to the ground. He saw now that the man had urninated on himself during the interrogation, and he felt slight remorse though he did not show it. "Look, Bernam, I will give you 48 hours. You call your people, whoever you have to, and you find out who ordered the heat." He now bent closer so their faces were only inches apart, "And if you don't have an answer for me in two days…." Batman smashed his fist in to the wall above and Berman winced at the impact and the sound, not opening his eyes for a few seconds. When he did, slowly and carefully, he was alone in the apartment. Bernam Maroni pushed himself to his feet and hurried to the phone as fast as his body would allow him.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A_**lfred Pennyworth had always been an early riser. Even from childhood, his parents had consistently instilled in him the concept that the early bird got the morning worm. This had especially been reinforced during his time in the army and he rarely ever slept past 5:30 am and never past 6. On this morning he was up at 5:35 and he quickly went about the process of taking a shower and getting dressed. By 6:00 am he was in the kitchen making breakfast.

Wayne Manor had become habitable about three months before and Alfred was still grateful for being able to return to his old kitchen. He made the vegetable omelette with two slices of buttered toast and cup of coffee skillfully, multi-tasking all the way, then made his way down to the recently renovated batcave. He had given up checking the master bedroom when he woke up. After verifying his identity with the new fingerprinting device installed in the study, he took the secret elevator down to the cave.

It was now less of a cave and more of an enlarged laboratory, surrounded mostly with steel but with the occasional bare areas and devoid almost completely of bats now. It now had multiple state of the art facilities including a crime lab, mechanized workshop, gymnasium, and two separate hangar spaces for the Batmobile and the Batpod. The cave's centerpiece was the huge supercomputer located at a far end of the structure. The new computer station's specifications wereon par with any of those used by the leading national security agencies. It permitted global surveillance and was also connected to a massive information network. In addition, it could store vast amounts of information, both on the Gotham population. A series of satelite link ups allowed easy access to this information network anywhere on the globe. There were new smart-systems that were protected against unauthorized access.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire, crime fighter, philantrophist, playboy, the epitomy of diverse yet converging personalities sat in front of the computer station hammering furiously at the keys. His shirt was off revealing a perfectly muscled yet lean and athletic physique decorated with scars and bullet wounds. He wore only jeans and slippers. He had on an earpiece as he simultaneously listened in on police lines and typed data in to the computer.

Alfred shook his head knowingly and approached, "Master Wayne?"

Bruce did not answer, still focused on the task at hand.

Alfred cleared his throat, "Master Wayne!"

Bruce now turned towards his butler, "Oh, Good morning, Alfred."

"Good morning to you too," Alfred said sarcastically, "I trust your nightly endeavors have peaked your appetite?" He asked, nodding towards the tray which he now set in front of the computer. Bruce's eyes were red and he nodded appreciatively.

"Thanks, Alfred," He sighed, putting the earpiece down, "I'm exhausted." He now put his full attention towards devouring the food in front of him. Alfred studied his master wearily. Bruce had always been handsome and still was, but his alter ego had clearly been putting a huge burden on him, especially as of lately. There were lines under his eyes and he had lost weight in that last few months. He rarely slept, even less than before, and when he was awake he always seemed caught up in something else.

"I trust you will try to get some sleep before you leave the premises again?" Alfred asked somewhat sardonically. "After all, Bruce Wayne has his own appearances to make."

Bruce nodded, "Of course, Alfred," He said, chewing on some toast, "I just have some work to do. You do know who Judge Sloan is, right?"

"Yes," Alfred said thoughtfully, "The portly fellow."

"Someone tried to kill him tonight," Bruce said.

Alfred's eyes widened only for a second. Gotham City was a place safe for no one. "Is he all right?"

Bruce nodded, "Yes, in stable condition. But I need to find out who would try to do something like this. I talked to one of my associates-" Alfred smiled wryly at this, "and I don't think the mob has anything to do with this, but it is definitely worth investigating."

"What are you doing now?" Alfred asked.

"I'm waiting for any police updates at all," Bruce said, "I'm definitely going to need to head out earlier tonight." He said, pushing the almost empty plate away and reaching for the earpiece.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said, and Bruce turned, "I hope you have not forgotten about your meeting with the Crosby Global CEO this afternoon."

Bruce sucked in his teeth sharply, "Aw, I forgot about that," he said, looking at the monitor of the computer for the time. It was a little after 6 now.

"You might need to get some sleep," Alfed suggested hopefully.

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, " In a couple of hours, I just have a couple of things I need to do." He now put the earpiece back on and continued to type furiously in to the database. Alfred noticed he was looking through police files. His eyes showed he was now staying awake only through shear will. But what to do with someone who had Bruce Wayne's dedication? Alfred rolled his eyes, took the tray, and headed towards the elevator.

* * *

**_I_**t had not taken long for Montoya and Bullock to determine that if they wanted any real and credible information unhampered by the shock of Slaon's shooting, the bodyguard most likely to give it was Abdallah. He was obviously shaken but handled it with all the poise of a former Special Forces Man. The two detectives had been in the hospital for about two hours now. Morgan, who was not fond of the police, was more concerned with making sure that he couldn't be implicated in any minor way and Zeke was very shaken and maybe still in shock.

However, Abdallah refused to say where the group had been coming form pointing out that it had little to do with the shooting. "How are we supposed to make sure of that if you don't tell us where you were coming from?" Montoya asked, annoyed.

"Why don't you ask Mr. Sloan if its so important?" Abdallah asked, pointing in the direction of Sloan's nearby hospital room, "I'm not saying anything else. I've told you everything that is relevant to this investigation."

"Why don't you let us determine that, bub?" Bullock asked.

"Maybe you should be more concerned with finding out who tried to kill Mr. Sloan rather than what we were doing at the time," Abdallah said. The two detectives, seeing they were not going to be able to get anything done this way, decided to leave the bodyguards alone for a while. Sloan was in stable condition and well-guarded by about a dozen uniformed cops so there was little need for them to stay at the hospital but they chose to anyway.

Bullock, consistently hungry, headed for the cafeteria and Montoya followed even though she was not hungry. She sat at a table and waited for him, cringing when he returned with a plate piled high with eggs, bacon, potatoes, and sausages. He noticed her expression and chuckled, "Whats the matter?"

"That stuff'll kill you, you know that, right?" She replied, motioning towards the grease building up on the paper plate, "Your body is a temple." Montoya kept herself fit with five grueling workouts a week and a low carb, low fat diet. She considered gluttony a the deadliest sin of all and she did not understand anyone, least of all a detective, who could let themselves get so out of shape.

"Yeah, right," Bullock chortled as he chewed on the eggs, "My body is a temple….For food!" He laughed at his own joke and Montoya sneered at him. Though….She had to admit that he wore his weight rather well. And he wasn't too bad looking…He had nice eyes, a decent smile…….If he worked on his hair a little, maybe lost a little weight….

Montoya shook the thought out of her head, she was too much of a professional to ignore the potential consequences of an inter-professional relationship. She decided to change the subject, "So, what do you think about the guards."

Bullock chewed thoughtfully for a few seconds then said, "I don't believe they had anything to do with it. They were in on the fire, one of them even got killed, too risky."

Montoya nodded agreeing, "Yeah…But what happened to Guillermo? It just doesn't make sense. Do you think he survived the shots and managed to get away?"

"I don't know," Bullock admitted, "This Abdallah guy seems like a professional, like someone who knows what he is doing. I doubt he would make a mistake pertaining to the pulse about whether or not the kid was dead. I think it's more likely that somebody took his body."

Montoya nodded, "Yeah, Mr. Abdallah isn't lacking of competence. I checked his record, joined the army at 22, after college, excelled in basic training, became a NAVY seal in a couple of years, highly decorated. This guy's the real deal."

Bullock's cellphone rang. He lifted it out of his pocket, said a few words, hung up, and turned back to Montoya. "What's the deal?" She asked.

"They found the murder weapon a couple of hours ago, Remington SR8," He replied, eyes widening as if it was just dawning on him.

"What?!" Montoya exclaimed, "A couple of hours, why are we only finding out now?"

Bullock shrugged, "I don't know, but anyhow, they're testing it for prints now."

"Where'd they find it?" Montoya asked.

"In a dumpster a couple of blocks away," Bullock replied.

Montoya rolled her eyes, "Whatever, lets go back to HQ," she said, rising out of her seat. Bullock did not move.

"I'm almost done," He said, now eating hurriedly.

"C'mon, now!" She said. She was definitely not a patient woman, least of all when it came to her job. In this they were similar, but unlike Harvey, she was never willing to take a break, not even when one was assigned.

"Just one more potato!" He pleaded. She snarled quietly, grabbed his tray, and quickly swiped his food in to a nearby garbage can, then stormed towards the exit. Bullock watched, shocked as she headed out, they yelled feebly after her, "Coming!"

* * *

**_L_**ucius Fox doubted he had ever seen a performer like Bruce Wayne. In private, the man was an intellectual dynamo. Fox had been surprised by his extent of expertise in multiple fields, revealed sporadically during their relationship, including but not limited to chemistry, engineering, forensic sciences, and to some extent quantum physics. Fox, a prodigy and tested genius himself, was often astounded by the complexity of Bruce's mind. Intelligence, even brilliance, seemed to tame as words to describe a mind as such, truth be told, with the very little he knew about his boss, he held highly as esteemed as one of the smartest, and definitely the most deductively talented man he had ever met.

Yet, here Bruce sat, dressed immaculately in an Armani suit, expensive loafers, and diamond studded rolex acting as if the most simple idea being presented to him was an anomaly. But this, Fox knew, was part of the act. The fact that Wayne was both very good looking and very rich fooled many in to underestimating him at almost every level, and truth be told, he did very little to dispel this notion, in fact, He was simplicity personified.

Jason Crosby was a shark in a suit, not brilliant, but shrewd, charismatic, and very manipulative. His parents had been wealthy, though nowhere near that of the Wayne family, and with some funding from his family he had built Crosby Global, turning himself in to a worldwide tycoon in little more than thirty years. He was the exact opposite of Bruce, short, chubby, and balding but he had a charm to him that was attractive to woman and to some platonic effect men, it was the effect of power, even if he hadn't been such a sharp dresser and obsessive groomer he practically reeked of power and authority. Despite his dimunitive stature, many men had learned the hard way that Crosby was not a man to be toyed with. He helped those lucky enough to be his friends and destroyed those unlucky enough to be his enemies. Most people were rattled by so strong a personality, but to someone like Bruce Wayne or Lucius Fox, Crosby was such another prospective business partner.

Crosby Global was now the world's third biggest telecommunications company coming only after AT&T and Bellsouth. The company generated hundreds of billions of dollars per year and their annual growth increased exponentially every year. Crosby was a workaholic and demanded nothing less from his workers. He selected only the best of the best and it was said anybody who could survive working under him could work anywhere.

The two hour meeting was now drawing to a close. Crosby had just finished explaining his prospective multi-million dollar deal with Bruce. They each had four lawyers on their side reading through the documents and the deals and explaining the terms. The Wayne Enterprises lawyers presumed Bruce an idiot and spoke mostly to Lucius, but Crosby was only too aware of the billionaire ego and condescended to try and explain the deal to the CEO. Bruce nodded nervously, asked stupid questions, and put forward a sense of aloofness and the behavior of a man in way over his head.

Fox had to bite the inside of his cheek or sip his coffee to keep from laughing at times. Sometimes the man was so convincing that he himself was sometimes confounded. Crosby was proposing a deal that would remove AT&T as the official partners of Wayne Enterprises in the Telecommunications market and instead put his own company in this position. Due to the fact that AT&T was after all the most sought after Telecommunications service in the world, Crosby and his lawyers were willing to give Wayne enterprises a huge bargain in fees and a few more additional services.

Now Crosby finally stood up and everybody in the room shook hands with everybody else, and finally the Crosby Global entourage left along with the Wayne Enterprise lawyers. Bruce let out a sigh and muttered, "Thank goodness."

Fox chuckled, "Late night?"

Bruce smiled tiredly, "Like you wouldn't know."

"Anything to do with the Sloan incident?" Fox asked. The attempted assassination had made front page news in Gotham newspapers this morning.

"Something like that," Bruce said. That was as far as the conversation went. Bruce never revealed much about his alter ego, and truth be told, Fox didn't care too much. As long as he knew his inventions were being used for good , he was ok. And Bruce was definitely among the few men he trusted in the world.

"So," Fox said, "How are you feeling about this Crosby deal?"

Bruce shrugged, " To be honest, Lucius, I really haven't looked in to it much. There's a lot on my plate right now, I was hoping, you know, if it's not too much for you…"

Lucius waved him away, "No problem, Mr. Wayne. That is, after all, my job description." Bruce smiled gratefully and massaged his temples with his fingers. Lucius had not missed the signs of fatigue. "You know, Bruce," he said, one of the rare times he ever called his employer by name, "They say the light that burns twice as bright burns half as long."

Bruce now stood up, "Don't worry about me, Lucius. I'm fine. I've just been having trouble sleeping is all, nothing I can't deal with." He walked over to the nearby window and looked outside at the breathtaking view of Gotham City so far below.

Lucius shrugged. Someone like Bruce could not simply be convinced of something or relieved of his obsessions. His greatest asset, his dedication, was could be to a fault sometimes. So he changed the subject, "Are you staying for long today? There's a couple of contracts I'm going to need you to sign."

Bruce turned, "Such as?  
"Well, there's the endorsement to the Gotham Gators. And you know you are expected to make an appearance at their season opening game in a couple of weeks."

Bruce shrugged, "Yeah, sure, if I can make the time. Basketball isn't to high on my list of priorities right now."

Lucius sighed, "Look, Bruce, I know the strains of your…..other life are much more than I, or anybody else for that matter, could ever handle, but you've got to get things together. You are still the CEO of this company, I don't mind handling the paperwork but there are some appearances you are going to have to make."

Normally, Bruce might have been irritated, but Lucius was one of the few men he actually liked and respected. But right now he was not in the mood to argue anything. "Yeah, you're right. Umm, listen, I have some place I need to go. I'll be back later."

Lucius nodded, "Alright." Bruce began to leave but was interrupted by Lucius once more, "Oh, Mr. Wayne, did you consider the offer from the soil company in Star City?" Bruce turned to Lucius blankly. His eyes relayed that he had not. Lucius sighed and bade his boss farwell.

* * *

**_C_**ommissioner Gordon was exhausted by now. It had been a long night of dealing with the media, calls from high ranked political figures, and making sure none of the more important parts of the investigation were linked to the press. Gotham's police force was known for its leaks and during his tenure as commissioner he had made that one of his biggest priorities. Now as Gordon carefully cleaned his glasses in between phone calls he leaned back for a moment.

He had called his wife hours before and told her he would not be home. She had not sounded surprised, nor disappointed. Gordon knew his wife loved him but in the months since he had taken the job they rarely saw each other during the week, even on weekends. He simply didn't have the time and his relationship with his son had begun to suffer too. James had begun acting out in school and had been in a couple of fights recently. Whenever he attempted to discipline him he saw the plain defiance, and though the boy would never dare say it, he knew what he was thinking: You don't have the right to do this, you're barely even home!

Now Gordon sighed and looked at his watch. It was afternoon already and he hadn't slept for almost 30 hours. But this came with the territory. Now he was just waiting on the prints from the rifle so he could continue on with the biggest case at the moment. Sloan was a highly connected man, if the shooting went unsolved heads would roll. A young cop suddenly stuck his head in the doorway, "Sir, they've got the prints."

"Yeah?" Gordon stood up.

The cop brought a file over to the desk. Gordon looked inside. The prints belonged to one Carl Suzzo, one of the Maroni gang associates and a along reputed hitman. Gordon stood up and headed out of his office.

* * *

**_B_**ruce was in the middle of an intense workout in the Batcave's state of the art gym station when the computer started beeping loudly. He swung himself forward off the Kip bar in to a smooth flip and landed on his feet, then hurried out and to the computer station. He had programmed the station so that when any update was made to any police department files concerning the Sloan case he would be alerted.

"They found the prints," He said to himself and read that they belonged to Carl Suzzo. Bruce checked his watch. It was still in the afternoon, a couple of hours away from evening. It seemed his alter ego would have to make an early appearance.


End file.
